


sparkle still the right Promethean fire

by abluestocking



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Hermione the Arithmancy Professor, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluestocking/pseuds/abluestocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cosy Saturday evening at home with Hermione, Viktor, and Crookshanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sparkle still the right Promethean fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddencait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/gifts).



The shadows were creeping across Hermione’s study when Crookshanks sauntered across her desk, plopped his hindquarters on top of one of her review articles, and fixed her with the most baleful of accusatory looks. 

She started, and pushed her reading glasses up her nose. “Is it that late? Sorry. I’ve just been looking over Dawson’s work on indeterminacy - ”

Crookshanks raised an elegant paw and began licking it.

“Right. You don’t care,” she said, laughing and reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Come on then. We’ve just got time for dinner before Viktor gets here, if he hasn’t missed his Portkey again.”

As she rummaged through her cupboards, Hermione found herself humming the latest Wyrd Sisters single. The house elves would have been happy to bring dinner up from the kitchens, she knew, but part of her carefully negotiated understanding with them was that she would not attempt to give them clothes unless they asked, and they would not attempt to serve her unless she asked. Both parties were less than satisfied with the arrangement, but they periodically discussed it over tea and biscuits in the kitchen and agreed it was best. Most of the Hogwarts house elves did not want clothes (with a few exceptions, of course), and Hermione enjoyed having her own little piece of Hogwarts that was entirely her own responsibility. Especially on the weekends, when only grading and research – and the occasional detention to supervise – disturbed her peace. Oh, and sometimes Viktor. 

The thought made her smile, as she put tuna in a bowl for Crookshanks and began toasting bread for herself. Viktor wasn’t always able to visit on the weekends – a Quidditch manager’s job being what it was – but many Saturday evenings found him sitting on Hermione’s sofa, telling stories about Winichakul’s latest locker-room pranks and analyzing their chances of winning the League Cup. It was cosy, here in her comfortable little tower apartment, curled up in the curve of Viktor’s arm as he absentmindedly played with her hair and listened to her deplore the inability of James Potter to follow simple classroom rules.

But Viktor wasn’t here yet – if he hadn’t missed his Portkey, he might very well have lost himself on the stairs, because Hogwarts loved to tease him – so Hermione took her plate of cheese on toast back into her study. Academic deadlines were always slightly fluid, but she’d promised to finish this article by the end of the month, and she’d like to at least try to do so. Christmas was only two months away, and the extra time over the holidays would be the ideal time to do the heavy research work for a new project, not spend it tidying up the loose ends of old ones.

She’d checked three pages of work and tracked down a missing citation by the time she heard Crookshanks padding across the kitchen to the front door, and she smiled as she shuffled her papers into a more-or-less neat pile. Crookshanks might pretend that he was an elderly half-Kneazle who only cared for one person in the world, but she knew he was fond of Viktor. (And only partly because Viktor had a knack for scratching under his chin in just the right way.)

“I’m in here, Viktor,” she called, putting her reading glasses in the pretty embroidered case Luna had given her for her birthday and leaning back in her chair.

Viktor loomed in the doorway, smiling and large, and then he was bending over to kiss her, smelling like the gooseberry tart Winky always tried to save for him in season. “I thought you might be,” he said, his beard scratching her cheek rather deliciously. “My bookling.”

“You were late,” Hermione said, laughing, and kissed him back, slow and lazy. When they broke apart, she added, “If you’re late, the ‘no work after dinner’ rule doesn’t apply.”

“Hmm,” Viktor said, ceding her point, and kissed her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Kneazles - even half-Kneazles - evidently live much longer than cats. This is my explanation for how Crookshanks is still around (unless Hermione has named a future cat after her first cat). :)


End file.
